Searching for Eternity
by Ftdc123
Summary: When Harry Potter loses the love of his life, he accidentally looses some powerful accidental magic, transporting himself back in the timeline to the Triwizard Tournament with his memories and power of his past, everyone else's future, still intact. He has been given a second chance, and he was most certainly going to make good use of it. Time-travel fic. Power!Harry.
1. Losing Her

**A/N: Hello everyone and welcome to the first chapter of **_**Searching for Immortality**_**. This is more of a prologue and will thus be significantly shorter than I plan on the chapters being regularly, I'll be shooting for 2-3k words apiece. Hope you enjoy, feel free to leave a comment telling me what you think. Thanks!**

Harry Potter, age 184, the most powerful wizard on the planet, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was currently walking through the front door of the home he shared with his wife, Fleur Delacour-Potter, age 187, and noticed that his front room was empty. He sighed to himself quietly; his wife of over a century and a half was nearing her end. Her magic wasn't sustaining her quite as well as Harry's own was himself. She just didn't have the same level of power that he did, and while he probably had another good 20-30 years, she did not. He didn't know how he would go on once she was gone; she was what had kept him going ever since they had gotten together out of school, directly after his defeat of Voldemort.

He made his way to their bedroom and saw her sleeping peacefully, her chest rising and falling with the deep rhythmic motion of her breathing. She had stayed quite the looker for someone her age, she seemed to age significantly slower than him, but that probably had something to do with her being a quarter-veela. He made his way over to her and bent next to her head, whispering softly in her ear, hoping that she would awake with enough energy to join him for a cup of tea in the kitchen.

"Fleur, awake my dear, you've slept away the entirety of the day. Come, we'll have some tea, or I can bring it in here…" He trailed off lightly at the end, hoping to coax a response from her; anything to comfort himself with the knowledge that she was still alive and capable of response.

"'Arry? What are you doing 'ere?" She asked in her still lightly accented voice. He smiled at that, they spoke French around the house often because he loved her accent and she wanted to keep it for him, but it would have deteriorated had she been forced to speak a language not her own for her entire life. She was always thinking about things like that, the little things she could do to show she loved him as dearly as he did her.

"You know that I can't stay away from you for more than a day, the students will just have to endure my absence for the day." He responded just as softly as she had. He had resolved to visit her at least every other day to check on her condition ever since her health had begun to weaken. He left early in the mornings and left Neville Longbottom, his deputy headmaster and Herbology professor, in charge for the day. He was hoping to retire soon anyways and Neville would make a great replacement.

"Ze board of governors weel become annoyed wiz you if you keep taking days off." She said sternly, or at least as sternly as she could with the small smile she had on her face. She was quite glad he was here actually, she had a strong feeling that today would be her last, and it wouldn't be right if he weren't here when it happened. He smiled softly before responding.

"The amount of times I can remember the board of governors as _not_ annoyed with me can be counted on one hand, love." He told her. By this time he had moved from his bent position to sitting on the bed near her head, holding her hand in his own. It felt so small, so frail, it scared him to realize that they were indeed _old_, older than most wizards and witches would ever hope to be; especially when you take into account his penchant for trouble. She chuckled softly, which then sent her into one of the god awful coughing fits that had scared the hell out of him since they had begun happening. Once the coughing had subsided and she had managed to calm herself, she looked up into his eyes noticing the love and tenderness that they had always held whenever they beheld her. Her eyes were glassy and she held a distinct thousand-yard-stare, as if she were recalling something from her past.

"'Arry, closer my love, it eez time…" She let the sentence─ the declaration─ hang in the air. Harry, with growing grief, terror, and sadness threatening to rip his heart from his chest, had no other choice than to do as she had said. He had been dreading this moment for several months, hell, he had _always_ dreaded this moment, and he had just hoped she would outlive him. Some would say it was selfish, but to hell with them. He leaned close to her, taking her hand and gripping it tenderly as he did. Staring into her eyes, determined to do so until the light left them; he didn't have to wait long.

"Goodbye my dear, I weell be waiting for you on ze ozzer side, and I better have to wait a long damn time Mr. Potter." She looked up into his eyes for the last time and whispered 'I love you' so softly he almost didn't hear her, but he had and repeated in kind, he had long since let the tears flow and they were rapidly making their way down his face. He didn't want to deal with this…he _couldn't_ deal with this.

Before they could say anything else to one another her breathing slowed and came to a stop, he could no longer feel her soft pulse through her frail wrists, and the warmth was already beginning to leave her body.

As the realization dawned on him that she was _gone_. He loosed an unearthly wail, one as frightful as to put the dragon from his fourth year running in fright. His magic followed soon after, swirling itself about him in a whirlwind of chaos, scorching the ground and electrifying the air about him. He had loosed more magical power in a few seconds than had been expended in the entirety of his duel with Voldemort in the graveyard on the night of his resurrection, and it was cocooning itself about him as if alive, and attempting to hold him in comfort of his loss, to soothe his grief, to quell his sorrow. It was horridly unsuccessful.

He could do not but hold her body close to him as his magic swirled and raged, sobbing onto her shoulder; praying that she wasn't really gone, that he didn't have to go on without her. But his prayers went unanswered and before he realized what had happened, he had expended every bit of the magic he had within himself. His body screamed in protest as it shut itself down from the exertion. He was soon unconscious atop her, looking for all the world a dead man.


	2. Realization

When Harry awoke after what had felt like hours, he noticed that there was something…off, about the room he was in. It didn't seem like it was sinister or anything to that effect, it just seemed as if there was something about this room that seemed familiar yet frighteningly alien. Like a half remembered dream that was born as you were just leaving the warm embrace of sleep. His mind was strangely clouded, and his body was sore and covered in sweat, which would be incredibly odd because he had no reason to be. He gave a sudden start, and felt his heart tighten in his chest from the pain of grief, when he remembered what had cast him into his unconsciousness. His wife, his beautiful, delicate, wondrous wife, had _died_. It was such an inconceivable concept that he began to desperately hope that it had all been a dream that he was just now waking from, it would explain his state of mind.

When he finally looked about the room, he came to the, rather depressing, conclusion that it had not been a dream. He was in a room that he hadn't seen in over a hundred and fifty years. But that couldn't possibly be, this building had been destroyed, burned to the ground at the climax of the war, he couldn't be at the Burrow, it simply _wasn't possible_ to be in a building that had been destroyed and never rebuilt, and yet here he lay. Had someone found him in his slumber and moved him somewhere, possibly in an attempt to heighten his already unfathomable sorrow? He couldn't think of any enemies he had made, at least those that were still alive, that would know that this would torment him so. No, there had to be some other explanation.

He made to uncover himself, and promptly missed the edge of whatever was covering him, realizing with a sudden anxiety that his arms were shorter than they should have been. Perhaps then, he was still asleep and in some memory or other? That might have been equally as troubling, he hadn't had his usual nightmares since he had been sharing a bed with Fleur. If they were returning on the very night of her passing then this would be even more so hellish than he knew, or wished to think about. But, he couldn't be in one of his nightmares…he was never in control of his body in them, while here he distinctly had control of his limbs, albeit limited because they seemed to not fit his body as they had a few scant hours ago. He made the move to get out of bed after trying once more, and succeeding this time, to uncover his body. He realized not long after attempting to stand that his legs were significantly shorter as well, whereupon standing he fell, rather hard, and was suddenly becoming acquainted with the wooden floors.

He stood back up and turned sharply towards the snore that sounded from the other side of the small room. He knew that snore; it belonged to his old friend Ron. But that wasn't possible either, Ron was dead, killed when he was just out of his twenties by a rogue bludger that had caught him in the temple in his third year playing keeper for the Chudley Cannons.

"_What the hell is going on?"_ He thought as he approached what could only be an intruder, calling upon his magical reserves, prepared to kill the fool that had made the mistake of impersonating someone whom he counted as a friend at one time. He shook the impostor violently by the throat, his hand glowing a fiery orange as it was held above the man's face, ready to incinerate him should he try to attack. It was around this point that he realized that his hands…they weren't, _old_ anymore. The wrinkles they once held were gone, replaced with the smooth, taut skin of youth. His distraction proved costly, as the impostor managed to throw him off, and begin a spluttering cough that left Harry enough time to recover and reach back for the man, grabbing him by the forehead and forcing him to look Harry in the eye as he sent a powerful probe at the man's unprotected mind. He sifted through the memories harshly, hardly pausing to analyzing any of them, simply trying to find who the phony was working for. He stopped moving through the memories as one caught his attention, it was of when the two of them jumped into the tunnel leading to the Chamber of Secrets in their second year.

He retracted his probe, finding that it had only been a split second in real-time, he let go of the man's head and let him fall back to the bed.

"Who are you? How do you have those memories? Tell me the truth and perhaps, _perhaps_, you'll leave this place with your life." He questioned. The promise of pain in his eyes and an edge to his voice that clearly stated that he was not to be trifled with.

"Harry? What the bloody hell are you talking about mate? What memories? Why did you just try to strangle me?" Faux-Ron began confusedly.

"Why did I attempt to strangle you?" he began "Perhaps because you are an impostor, a fake who is wearing the face of a friend, not to mention that you must have kidnapped me!"

"Kidnapped? What are you talking about? We came and got you from your Muggle relatives! We saved you from that place so that you could come with us to the World Cup! Remember? Dad won tickets from the office." He responded while rubbing his neck, attempting to ease the soreness that came with near strangulation. He would probably have a nasty bruise in a few minutes.

Harry could sense no lies, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. "When we met in first year, what was the spell you tried to use on your rat?"

"What Scabbers? I don't remember! 'Sunshine meadow, daisy…' something! I was trying to turn him yellow, what's it matter?!" He asked as he tried to figure out what in the hell was wrong with his friend.

"_Hmmm, he didn't get it, but he knew enough. Let's try something he would have to remember." _He thought. "In first year, what were the protections on the Philosopher's Stone?" This was an easy one; if he didn't get these then he was fried.

"The protections? Umm…there was Fluffy, the Devil's Snare, the key room, the chess set…ummm oh! The flying keys!" Ron remembered them well enough, it felt like he had actually been stabbed when that stupid Queen had destroyed his horse.

"_Hmm, very good, Ron wouldn't know about the dead trolls or the potions riddle, he had to stay behind before then…" _Harry stopped the flow of magic when he realized that this really was Ron, or at least he was as sure as he was going to be. He kept his guard up just in case though.

"Where are we?" It was the first thing that came to mind, he could feel the wards around the place, so it had to be protected, and probably shielded against apparition in that case.

"The Burrow of course! Where else would we be? We'll be heading off to the World Cup soon enough I'd guess; it's today I think…" Ron responded, where were they? What kind of question is that?

"The Burrow? You look young enough to still be in Hogwarts, what year are you?" Harry asked after having his question answered, he still didn't believe it, but it was all he had for now.

"Umm…you don't look so old and wizardly yourself mate. Did you hit your head on something? _We're _going into our fourth year this year." He responded dryly, "_Young enough? Me? What are you on about Harry?"_

"Fourth year? We? As in you and me? I don't think so; I'm a touch older than my Hogwarts years…" He said, he was after all, nigh on two centuries in age.

"No…you're not. Are you feeling okay Harry? You look like you've had a bad dream. Go splash some water on your face and I'll get mum. She can make sure you're in good enough health." Ron said. What the hell was wrong with his friend? Older than his Hogwarts years…his mum would know better than he what was wrong with him.

Harry could hear the genuine concern in his friend's voice and decided not to question it, he would gather some more information on where they were on his trip to the bathroom before questioning him anymore. "Yeah…I think that's a good idea _mate_, mind showing me the way?"

"You know the way! It's right down the hall!" Rom exclaimed, seriously questioning the mental stability of his best mate.

"Oh…yeah, of course I knew that!" Harry responded before making his way for the door, stumbling a few times on his shorter-than-normal legs, and then missing the doorknob with his stubby-feeling arms. After a few curses mumbled under his breath he made it out the door, with Ron looking worriedly after him, probably expecting him to fall down the stairs with how clumsy he was being.

He finally made it to the bathroom, barely avoiding falling over the railing on the stairs, and utterly failing to maintain his dignity in doing so. He reached for the faucet carefully, making sure he got it the first time, and running his hands under the water before bringing them up to wash his face. He thought to himself as he did so about how strangely similar this house was to the Burrow he remembered. As he finished wiping off his face and drying it with the hem of his T-shirt, he looked up into the mirror and couldn't help the startled yelp that escaped his mouth before he knew what had happened. He picked himself up from where he had fallen on the floor and looked back into the mirror, hoping it had been a truck of the light as he had forgotten his glasses on the bedside table in the room he had just come from.

He couldn't believe it, he wasn't old anymore, and his face was that of a young boy, it still held the traces of baby fat that had gone missing in his seventh year. He held up his hands, remembering from earlier how they had looked so youthful, it hadn't had time to stun him so badly then, as he had to immediately go after the 'impostor'. They were just as smooth as his face. This was…this was _wrong_. He was an old man! He shouldn't have features like he did. They should be old, and papery and wrinkly and gnarled.

"_What in the name of Merlin is going on?!_" He thought desperately to himself. Had he been somehow…no…it couldn't be. This had to be a trick his mind was playing on him. Time travel, of this magnitude anyways, wasn't possible, even with magic! They had been trying to figure out how to reverse the timeline for centuries when he had become headmaster! What could have possibly caused this? A spell perhaps? No, there were no known magics capable of sending people back through a single timeline; a time-turner put you in an alternate reality, a time pocket if you will, until such a time as you made it back to the present.

How then, had he managed it? He would have had to literally rip apart space-time and thrust himself, soul and mind included, back through it. But he hadn't done anything to bring about such a reaction! Maybe Fleur, and thinking about her still brought a pang on horrible anguish to his heart, had done something? Her last words had been about having to wait a long time, but he was almost certain that had just been to warn him against killing himself. This was something else entirely, the only thing he could think of, was that when he had felt the life leave his beloved, the torrent of power that he had accidentally released had somehow altered reality. But that in itself was a somewhat arrogant notion, to think he would be powerful enough to do on accident something that had never been done before? Preposterous! But then how was he here?

"_Bah! Never mind how I'm here! Can I get back? …Should I get back?"_ He mused to himself; he realized with a startling ferocity that Fleur was still alive right now! She wasn't the woman he remembered…yet. But she would grow into her! She didn't know who he was…yet. But she would if Ron was telling the truth and he really was headed into his fourth year! He just couldn't interfere in Crouch's plans and he would be fully capable of getting close to her through the tournament once again. Just as he had in the past…future…Bah! Whenever it technically was that he had last time.

He made his way back out of the bathroom, realizing that he had been in there for quite a bit longer than what was probably seen as normal, and made his way back to the room he had been in before. Attempting along the way to look more dignified than he had exiting, failing miserably, he would get used to his limbs eventually, but for now, he may as well be Tonks. He opened the door and saw Molly Weasley standing just inside the doorway; she turned to him with a warm smile and greeted him with one of her hugs. That alone nearly reduced him to tears, he had been there when Molly had died of old age in St. Mungos, he hadn't felt a hug like this in nearly 90 years.

"Hello Harry dear, are you feeling well? Ron said you were acting a bit on the strange side earlier?" Mrs. Weasley asked with the same concern she had always felt for the boy she considered one of her own sons.

"Yes Mrs. Weasley, I'm fine, had a bit of a strange dream. Thought I was older than I am I guess." He said

With a smile, trying his hardest to control the tears threatening to fall, and succeeding. Mrs. Weasley looked skeptical and still pulled out her wasn't to cast a few simple spells used by some healers to make sure their patient was in good health. She nodded as she looked back at Harry, apparently having been satisfied by whatever answer she had received, he wasn't particularly good with healing charms.

"Alright dear, well you get dressed and come down stairs with Ron in a few minutes; you look like skin and bones! I personally will not be sending you gallivanting across the country side to find some portkey at this ungodly hour on an empty stomach." She declared with a genial nod, as if assuring herself that the very notion was absurd.

"Thanks ma'am, I'll be down in just a few minutes, just need to get dressed and freshen up." He responded with a smile. At her nod she walked from the room to leave the boys to get dressed. He looked toward Ron, who looked at him questioningly, not totally believing his explanation, but apparently deciding against questioning him. The two got dressed in silence, during which time Harry took the time to think and came to the conclusion that nobody needed to know that he was from the future, if everything went according to plan, he could end the second war before it even started, and all it would take was for him to follow Crouch's plan as if he was ignorant to the whole thing.

As he and Ron made their way downstairs, him only _almost_ falling down them…three times, he smiled to himself. This was going to be much better than it was before.

* * *

**A/N: Hello everyone and welcome back! I want to thank everyone for the reviews and answer the only question that was really raised, that of Harry and Neville being the same age and yet Neville still being able to take over after Harry retires. I'll admit that it was just a bit of a misstep on my part, but the official response is that since either Harry or Neville could have been the "Chosen One" then they would be similar in power levels. Thanks again, and I hope to see you all again next chapter!**

**Ftdc123**


	3. Departing

When Harry made his way down stairs, following closely behind Ron just in case this really was a trap, he looked around the living room noticing Mr. Weasley sitting on the couch reading the paper and nodded his acknowledgement to the older man. He also noticed the open door that, if he remembered correctly, led to the kitchen. He was pretty sure that he was right, as he could smell the fantastic cooking that had become a staple of the Weasley household. He made his way into the kitchen and had to stop himself from running towards the bushy haired beauty seated at the table. In his time, Hermione had died about ten years before Fleur, passing away peacefully surrounded by her friends, family, and her husband Neville. The two had been married around the same time as Harry and Fleur, having been dating since the middle of their sixth year.

She turned towards him and Ron and smiled brightly as she gestured to the seats on either side of her. The table was conspicuously empty, Ginny apparently hadn't been woken up yet, which was good, it would mean a few more minutes of peace for him to gain his bearings. He took the seat on Hermione's right, Ron having taken the other side, and accepted a plate packed with delicious smelling food from a smiling Mrs. Weasley.

"Morning Harry, Ron, how did you sleep?" She asked once he had put his plate on the table and seemed about to tuck in, glancing down toward his awkward handling of the spoon and fork he had picked up from the table. It seemed to her as if he wasn't in full control of himself.

"Good, had a bit of a strange waking up, but other than that it was peaceful enough." He responded to her question, not planning on elaborating anymore on this morning and hoping Ron would be too focused on eating to either. It was a safe assumption as Ron still seemed a bit groggy at having been woken so early and was eagerly tearing into his sausages, having barely glanced up at Hermione's question.

"Strange? Strange how? Are you feeling okay now?" Hermione seemed to spring immediately to the worst possible outcome, something she had always done, and something that had never ceased to amuse him greatly. She had always been a worrier, and it hadn't been helped by the fact that she was generally proved right.

"Yes, I'm fine now," he began, and seeing her disbelief, quickly added, "you can even ask Mrs. Weasley, she diagnosed me with a clean bill just before I came downstairs." He saw her look to the Weasley matriarch and receive the nod of confirmation she was looking for from the woman. Her shoulders released some of the tension they had taken on when she thought there might have been something wrong with her best friend.

"If you say so," she said slowly "just remember that if there is anything wrong that you should let me know, I might know ways to help you." He chuckled quietly to himself as he began to dig into his eggs, leave it up to Hermione to think she had a way of helping him no matter what his problem, it had always been one of his favorite things about his friend, her utter confidence in her own ability. It was truly an admirable trait to be had in anyone, especially when they had the ability to back it up in practical usage.

He and his friends finished their breakfast in amiable silence, each deciding that it was entirely too early to be having conversations with one another. As they sat together, Harry decided that he would take this time to formulate some of the more obscure parts of his plan. He would first need to be sure that Barty Crouch Jr. didn't suspect him, or his newfound power, as a threat against his master. That could lead to nasty consequences like Voldemort deciding that the plan should be aborted, or moving his Horcruxes to insure their safety. Harry had no doubts that he was paranoid enough about them to move them at the slightest hint of trouble. Harry also needed to decide what he would do in the Tasks if things stayed on track far enough for it to matter. He also needed to do his best to not draw attention to himself, or his knowledge, but if that became a problem he would simply say that the stresses of the tournament were getting to him and that he wanted to be studying enough to keep up with the other champions.

He chuckled quietly to himself, imagining the looks of shock that would appear on everyone's face if he simply waltzed into the arena with the dragon and began blowing things sky-high as if it were hardly a challenge, which it wouldn't be for him. He understood that trying to use his magic as he did before he was sent back was stupid and foolhardy, his body could barely handle what nature was doing to it, if he started pumping huge quantities of magical power through it, there would probably be disastrous consequences.

He noticed his friends rising from the table, having finished their breakfast, and rose with them. They all turned towards the door and began their way back through the house back to their respective rooms, or in his and Ron's case, room. He bade Hermione a quiet 'See you soon' and turned back to the room he shared with Ron, intent on getting dressed without making a fool of himself due to his current lack of coordination. He had just began moving toward his trunk to pull out the clothing he had planned on wearing that day when he heard Ron's voice from behind him.

"So mate, you feeling any better? What happened this morning? Was it a bad dream or something?"

"I think it must have been, I don't know what was going on, and sorry about the whole choking you thing. With a bit of food in me, I am feeling much better." He responded, hoping that Ron would drop it at that. When he looked behind him after not hearing a response, he saw Ron rummaging through his dresser, apparently having deemed his answer satisfactory. He returned to his own trunk and pulled out a simple shirt and jeans, and began to change into them, ready to depart and get to the World Cup, no matter how many times he saw it, Quidditch was always one of his favorite things in the wizarding world.

* * *

He, along with Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasley family beside Molly, made their way over the "hill" that Mr. Weasley said was the last part of their trip. The portkey, as he remembered the old boot, sat atop the hill, looking for all the world like the most suspicious object to ever grace the exact center of the top of a hill. Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch and informed them that they were a few minutes early and therefore had to wait for their travelling companions, the Diggorys. He found himself a nice patch of grass and promptly fell upon it after dropping his pack unceremoniously to the floor beside him.

As they waited they began to discuss the upcoming match. Ron seemed almost zealous in his adoration for the Bulgarian Seeker, Victor Krum, and the twins had absolutely no reservations in pointing that out to him by blowing kisses and sighing in mock-dreaminess whenever Ron mentioned the man's name, which was surprisingly often. Harry sat idly by, along with Hermione and Ginny, and snickered when he saw Ron's face go beet red as it was won't to do whenever he was embarrassed.

After just a couple of minutes of rest and relaxation, courtesy of the ground, the Diggorys arrived and it was time for them all to catch the portkey to the campsite that housed the World Cup stadium this year. Harry, along with everyone else, quickly took hold of the boot and felt the ground leave their feet and their stomachs jump into their throats. Portkey travel was never comfortable, and in fact, wasn't very convenient. It was only ever good for transporting large groups of people and was therefore subject to that age-old stereotype of 'all public transportation sucks,' a stereotype which was one of the few he actually put stock in.

Luckily, they arrived soon enough and he was thrown to the ground due to his own clumsiness coupled with the fact that he simply wasn't good at using portkeys. Once he had picked himself up from the floor and dusted himself off, much to the amusement of the people who _hadn't _fallen on their faces, he made his way to the camp by following those in front of him, attempting to keep to the back so as to avoid participating in the conversation and accidentally saying something that would give him away, or put suspicion on him in the slightest. Hermione glanced back at him a few times, probably wondering if he was still feeling ill from this mornings 'strangeness,' but her glances were few and fleeting as she, like him, was more amazed by the hundreds of magical tents that surrounded them in every direction as far as the eye could see. It seemed like there was more people here than he remembered there being, but it could have just been because he was actually paying attention this time.

They had separated from Cedric and his father soon after entering the camping site, them being in support of Bulgaria, had a tent in a different location. They made their way towards the tent that Harry knew as theirs, he remembered it only because of its apparent…normalcy. It just seemed so strange to him the first time around that amidst all of these obviously magical tents, some being two, even three stories in height, that there had been this one little, open-flapped tent that was supposed to house all of them. He followed the Weasley clan into the tent and smiled to himself as he felt a mirrored amazement that this tent had always brought about whenever he thought about it. It was his first real glimpse of magical housing, the Burrow was almost definitely kept upright by magic, but this was in a league all its own.

He looked around the enlarged tent, taking notice of the fully stocked kitchen, along with the separate boys and girls rooms, and the living area that they were all standing in, soaking up the feel of the magic that surrounded them. He made his way to the small kitchenette, followed closely by Ron and the twins, retrieving butterbeers for everyone after asking those in the room if they would like to partake. He joined the twins at the table and slung off his pack, placing it on the floor by the chair and leaning back, stretching, and sighing in contentment when he felt the bones in his back pop, carrying the heavy pack all morning had not been forgiving.

He smiled to himself as he looked around, noticing everyone getting comfortable in their own way. Ron was already asleep on the cot that Mr. Weasley had designated as his, probably trying to rest up so that he would have plenty of energy for the match tonight. He also saw Hermione, reclining in one of the squishy armchairs in the middle of the tent, reading one of the books she had brought with her. He saw Ginny, over by her and Hermione's cots, unpacking her things and situating them in the way she wanted, he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him when he saw the stuffed owl toy that she had placed next to her pillow. The twins were with him in the kitchenette, sipping their butterbeers and resting by placing their feet up on the table, which they were reprimanded for almost immediately for by Mr. Weasley. Then there was Mr. Weasley himself, who was just about to exit the tent and go in search of a place for water, probably hoping to encounter a merchant along the way so that he could use some more of the Muggle money that he found so amusing.

He leaned back in the chair a little further, nearly following over as he did, saved only by one of the twins placing their hand on the back, more by reflex than anything, as he was sure that had they realized what was happening would have more than likely given him the final nudge to tip him over. This was going to be a good day, he would get to see some professional Quidditch, see some veela cheerleaders, he was a guy after all, and he would get to decimate the Death Eaters one at a time if he could sneak off to somewhere where nobody would see him practicing wandless magic, he still had the stupid Ministry's trace on his wand. He was actually conflicted on if he should stop the attack at all, nobody was seriously hurt the last time, and intervening could do little more than get him caught if he got sloppy. But that was something to deal with when he got to it, for now, he would rest, lay down, maybe read a book, and await the time when they would make their way to the stadium for the match.


	4. In the Top Box

Harry awoke suddenly from the nap he had been taking, having been roused rather violently by his friend shaking him roughly. He glared up at Ron but rose, feeling the first glimmers of excitement about the match that was too come. Truth be told he had seen Bagman yesterday and hadn't been able to resist making a bet on Bulgaria to win, so that the twins would receive the money they were due with their bet on Ireland; Bagman had cheated them last time by paying them in the gold dropped the by the Irish mascots, money which had then promptly disappeared from the inside of their pockets several minutes after the man disappeared.

He had had a recent…revelation of sorts. If this was the _World Cup_ then wouldn't the high ranking officials and dignitaries from other countries be in the top box? If so then they would be in the same place, as that was where Mr. Weasley's ticket winnings had gotten them seats. If all that were true then it was very likely that he would see Fleur there, he was _much_ more excited about that possibility than the match, as her father was the French Minister of Magic to be; he would take over for the man that had been leading them for the last several years, or at least he had the last time. But a man of such stature and wealth, which he knew their family had, having been to their manor a few times in his courtship, and eventual marriage to, the eldest daughter of said family, a Miss Fleur Delacour. Thinking about her still brought butterflies to his stomach; he was going to get to do it all again! Better this time than ever before.

Of course there was also the possibility that he was being incredibly stupid and he wouldn't see her, but hey, can't stop a man from hoping right? If she were there then he would have to show her, immediately, that he was not some little boy to be waved off and berated for his immaturity. He would also have to introduce himself to her in some way that showed that he was immune to the allure, or had at least built up a damningly good resistance to it. That part was easy enough, just ignore the Bulgarian cheerleaders when they came out, show that they had no effect on him.

As he had been formulating his plan, he had also been getting ready along with everyone else in the tent, he was wearing his overly large, ridiculously bright Bulgaria top-hat that he had bought from one of the wandering vendors, he had bought one for Ron as well, but in the colors of Ireland rather than Bulgaria. The boy may like Victor Krum, but he disliked the rest of the team. Harry on the other hand, hadn't ever really learned what any of the players but Krum was like, and therefore had no problem in rooting for them to beat Ireland.

After everyone had gotten dressed and prepared he, along with everyone else, followed Mr. Weasley out of their tent and into the throng of people heading toward the stadium in the middle of the sea of tents. It was just as grand a construction as the first time he'd seen it. Painted solid gold and built to a massive scale, surrounded by muggle repelling charms, notice-me-not's, compulsion charms, the things was nigh on invisible to any muggle that happened across the area, even though if you were a wizard the thing seemed to stick out so brightly as to burn the eyes. Magic, what a magnificent thing it was.

-Break-

When Harry and the others had their tickets punched at the entrance to the stadium, the old gentleman doing so told them that they were in the Minister's box; 'all the way up' was what he had said, although such words don't do justice to just how high in the air 'all the way up' is. Several hundred feet up, he could barely make out the fact that the throngs below him were actually people, and by the time they reached the box, he couldn't make out one from the other.

Ron and the others had not been idle up to this point, joining him in his people watching and amazement. Ron especially seemed to be a bit awestruck, as he was glancing this way and that with quick jerking motions of his head, his mouth nearly hanging open. The group made their way as one unit to the top box, the journey seeming to never end. It would have been exhausting and tedious had they not been surrounded by the sights that were catching their attention and the twins never missing an opportunity to make humorous quips about each of them when they saw something they could use to their advantage, such as Harry's shorter-than-average stature, something which he resolved to do something about as soon as possible.

They had run into Malfoy at some point about halfway through their climb, he had made some comment or other about how the Weasleys were poor, as was his fashion. Harry had only really taken notice of the boy when he had the smug smirk wiped off of his face by the announcement from Mr. Weasley that they would be joining them in the top box. It was oddly satisfying to see him put in his place, even though Harry wasn't one to hold grudges, Malfoy was a special case and wouldn't be any easier to deal with until his youthful hubris was tempered by age and loss.

The entrance into the box was an event to be remembered, the noise of outside nearly disappearing into nothingness when the enchanted door closed behind them. Harry looked around the room, taking notice of its enhanced size and elegant make. There wasn't a single part of the floor that wasn't carpeted and the chairs available for the foreign ministers and dignitaries seemed to be of the finest make, with beautiful upholstery and fine cloth being used to adorn high backs of each one. He also noticed to abundance of food available for anyone who may feel a bit hungry over the course of the match. There were several table lined up along a back wall, each one staffed by three or four eager-to-please house elves, their little chefs hats the only things visible over the tops of the tables as they rushed back on forth from guest to guest. It was clear that the minister wasn't sparing any expense in insuring that these powerful people from around the world were comfortable and well looked after.

Harry noticed the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, rushing around with his aides tailing behind him, making sure that he spoke to and shook hands with, every last person in the room, Mr. Weasley included. Although Harry was amused to see the leader of magical Britain in such a state, he was much more interested in looking around the room for a head of silvery hair he knew all too well. She would most likely be accompanied by the rest of her family, which should make it easier to spot them, as they made quite a group; two quarter-veelas, a half-veela, and a man who is basically a lock to become the French Minister of Magic? They were a very intimidating quartet. He caught his first glimpse of them when he saw some of the distinctive silver hair that belonged to the women of their family, but it was only at about waist height, meaning it had been Gabrielle. He did his best to follow after her but he was quickly pushed toward the front of the room by the Weasley boys and was forced into a chair in the front row, completely restricting his view of the rest of the room.

That, however, did not last long as he stood and made his way back to the back of the room, telling Hermione as he did that he wanted to see if they had anything good to eat. He scanned the room as he walked and saw the familiar face of Monsieur Delacour, standing next to his wife Apolline, and looking about the place as if he'd much rather have not been forced into turning a sporting event into something so formal, which Harry knew was the case. Next to them was Gabrielle, grasping tightly to her mother's other hand, looking back and forth at the witches and wizards that were crowded around her, seemingly terrified at the large group of people. However, they all dimmed and faded in comparison to the last person his eyes came to rest upon, his beautiful flower, his delicate wife…there she was. He felt his breath catch and his stomach grow heavy…there she was, it had become a mantra in his head, repeating over and over. She was here, alive and young and beautiful. Just as perfect as she had always been, smiling serenely as she listened to her father tell a story, one that was apparently quite humorous as she was laughing softly throughout.

He had to turn quickly to wipe the tears that were leaking from his eyes, he had been so incredulous at seeing her that he had forgotten there were others in the room, many of them looking at him as if he was crazy, he was after all, standing stock-still and had started crying. Who wouldn't think him crazy? He had to quickly grab a roll so as to stall Hermione's questions on why he didn't get anything, and made his way back to his friends. He couldn't go talk to her, not yet. He needed to get himself under control, and then he would go. Maybe when the Bulgarian cheerleaders came out, and everyone else was distracted. Yes, that would do nicely, it would both show that they didn't enthrall him and it would give him ample time to talk to her whilst all the others sat dazedly in their seats, oblivious to him and her.

He sat down heavily in between Ron and Hermione, still fighting to get his emotions under control, seeing her had gotten him worse than he had expected it to. He hadn't truly accepted how much it hurt to _not_ have her than when he saw her, when he realized he wouldn't need to know, and if the plans he was forming went well, if they came to fruition eventually, he wouldn't have to deal with it.

He saw Fudge rise from his seat and make his way to the front of the box, taking out his wand as he did and holding it to the base of his throat once he had reached the balcony-like area in which he and Bagman would sit as they watched the match. He announced in his magically enhanced voice, which sounded only of a normal pitch inside the room in which they were seated due to the sound dampening charms put over the entire interior.

"Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the 482nd annual Quidditch World Cup!" He sounded across the stadium, to massive applause and cheering by the fans below, he flicked his wrist out from his throat, launching a flare of light that rose into the air and then exploded into a shower of multi-colored sparks. Bagman was already out on the balcony at this point and was raising his wand to his throat to begin announcing for the match, looking like a little kid in a candy shop, he truly was a little boy at heart, and was just as excited about the match as he always had been growing up.

As Bagman set about calling out the rosters from the different teams, Harry took another glance around the room, spotting the Delacours sitting in the back of the room together, and waiting for the match to start. "_Yes_" he thought "_once the cheerleaders come out should do nicely."_ He was nervous of course, but he was also excited, more than he ever had been, he was going to get too woo his wife all over again! What man wouldn't be excited? He would dazzle her with his wit and intrigue her with his mystique…"_Mystique? Get over yourself Potter, you're still only fourteen years old right now, you have about as much charm as a troll. You'd probably drool on yourself if you didn't have another 170 years' experience."_ He chided himself, confidence was good, arrogance was not, and neither was being delusional. But hey, he may be able to reel her in again; he had once already hadn't he?

-Break-

**A/N: Hello everyone! I know you were expecting him to talk to her this chapter but that will come next time, along with the death eater attack. What will happen? Who knows? Except me of course ;) I wanted to thank you for all of your reviews and follow, as well as your favorites. You are the ones who encourage me to write more, and I will as long as you guys seem to enjoy it. Be sure to leave a review letting me know what you think of this chapter. Thanks again! 'Till next time.**

**Sincerely,**

**Ftdc123**


	5. Second First Meetings and an Attack

By the time Harry had stopped fidgeting in his seat and had finished eating his roll, Bagman had already finished introducing the Irish team. Their mascots were currently doing a dazzlingly green and gold lap around the stadium, tossing leprechaun gold wherever they went, to great cheering from those that didn't know that it would all be disappearing in the next few hours. It still awed Harry to see the little magical creatures; they didn't live anywhere but Ireland and were quite few in number, having been hunted to near extinction in the middle ages by treasure hunters and never being quite able to recover.

Harry took the time that the leprechauns were flying around the stadium, setting off fireworks and throwing false gold as they went, to attempt to sneak a peek at his lovely future wife. She was seated near the back along with the rest of her family, her mother and father occupying her right side while Gabrielle sat in her lap smiling as her hair was brushed by her older sister. They made a rather adorable sight and Harry found himself unable to look away, something that was not lost on Hermione, who had been watching him since he had turned around. She turned her head herself to get a look at whatever it was that had Harry so enraptured. When she saw what he was staring at she huffed loudly and nudged his ribs, whispering to him as she did that he was staring and that he needed to get a hold of himself.

Harry on the other hand hadn't had any intention of turning around until the girl sitting next to him "nudged" him in the ribs, sighing in exasperation as she did; Harry heard a distinctly muttered "_Men…" _as she turned back to the mascots flying around the stadium, no doubt thinking that he had been staring at Fleur because of her otherworldly beauty, which was only half true.

Fleur herself was much more aware of Harry's staring than she would have liked, assuming that he was just another boy ensnared by her and her mother's allure. Gabrielle really didn't really know how blessed she was in these first few years, having not developed the allure as she had yet to go through puberty. However, Fleur had been stared at by most men since she had been 13 years old, her allure at that age had been wild and untamed, a veritable signal flare that she was there. It had been horrid until her _maman _had taught her how to control it to some extent. She decided to just leave the boy be for now, he was, after all, just staring. If he tried anything, she would simply release her hold on her allure and convince him that nothing would make her happier than for him to swan dive off the balcony…or at least for him to go away. She didn't need to be blamed for a suicide.

Harry looked back towards the balcony as Bagman began announcing the Bulgarian team, taking far to long in announcing Krum's name, of course this was because Krum was pretty much the most famous person in Quidditch. A moving panorama showed up behind him as he flew out, showing his face in all of its ultra masculine detail; it wasn't very flattering and made the boy look more oafish than anything, as it would anyone else's face that was blown up several thousand times and shown in extreme detail. But the caveman-esque Krum wasn't what he was excited about; Bulgaria meant Bulgarian cheerleaders, and Bulgarian cheerleaders meant he was about to have his "first" conversation with Fleur; and it couldn't have been timed more perfectly, she had just gotten up and gone to get some more of the fruit punch available at the back tables.

As the group of flamboyantly dressed veela made their way toward the center of the field, Harry stretched his back, doing everything in his power to work out his nerves, before standing up, telling Hermione as he did that he wanted some fruit punch, although she was preoccupied with getting angry at Ron because of his enthrallment by the veela. Harry glanced around the top box, noticing than the only men not staring glassy eyed at the group of young women on the field were himself and Sebastian Delacour, who saw him standing up and gave him a curt nod to show his acknowledgement of Harry's presence. If he was surprised that Harry didn't feel the allure then he didn't show it, the man was a politician to the core, and it was right bloody terrifying to think that he would have to meet the man again to ask for his daughters hand in marriage. But in order to even get to that point, he had to make his way quickly to the back tables, where Fleur was just beginning to pour herself a glass of fruit punch.

Fleur more sensed that a person was approaching her than she did see or hear it. She had stood up upon seeing the cheerleaders on the field, having not wanted to watch a group of women like her dance around for the viewing pleasure of men who couldn't possibly enjoy watching a veela do anything, as their minds were almost immediately overpowered by the allure. She expected the person behind her to either be her father or sister, and was therefore immensely surprised to find the boy who had been staring at her earlier. He seemed rather spooked that she had turned around to find him behind her, and looked rather tongue tied by her. Fleur decided that if he hadn't been reduced to a bumbling mess by the cheerleaders that she would at least introduce herself, if only to be polite.

"'Ello, may I 'elp you with somezing?" She asked in heavily accented English; assuming that the boy was an English speaker, he also appeared rather young, barely standing level with her, and she was short for her age.

"Uh…Hi, I just uh…wanted some punch?" He finished his sentence as a question unintentionally, feeling ready to curl up and die; that was _not_ how he had intended his opening sentence to go, in his head he had been much more suave about the whole thing, but having her turn around and address him directly had completely thrown him off, and hearing her voice as it had been when he had first met her had caused a tumult of emotions in him that he hadn't felt in a very long time. She was looking at him with a look that told him that she thought he was enthralled by her and was getting ready to tell him where he could shove off to.

"Hmmm? Well, that's nice…enjoy." She replied, fully intent on getting back to her seat and away from the creepy young man who was openly staring at her as if she was some incredible artwork that was prone to vanishing…which, she supposed, in his mind might very well be true.

"_Fuck! Need to recover! Need to recover!"_ Harry thought frantically while trying to find something he could say to forestall her departure. He decided that the quickest way between two points would be a straight line and followed up with, "Would you like to…join…me?" He realized at the exact moment it was coming out that it was just about the lamest line ever uttered, but hopefully it was just lame enough to work.

"Join you? I believe that we are already 'ere, so I suppose I already 'ave. Now, eef you weel excuse me, I need to return to my family." She tried to end things on at least an amiable note; however it didn't seem the boy was having any of that.

"Wait! I haven't even gotten your name, nor you mine…would you mind telling me?" Harry asked, hoping he could stall enough for an opening to show her that he spoke French, which should at least be enough to get her talking to him for a bit longer.

"Ah, I suppose I 'ave not, I am Fleur Isabelle Delacour, a pleasure to meet you meester…?" She decided that she would at least humor him, the fact that he could still talk meant that he had at least some resistance to her allure, which she had been steadily letting out since deciding that the conversation had ended, nearly a full minute ago.

"Fleur Delacour you say? That's French yes?" Harry responded, intentionally not telling her his name yet, it gave him some of the mystery he knew had first intrigued her when he had met her in his first time through life.

"Yes, eet eez, your powers of deduction have not gone to waste obviously…" Fleur responded, deciding that if he was going to be condescending and/or make stupid remarks then she would do the same in return. Although she did decide to stick around until she got his name, of only so that she could tell her _papa_ about him when she got back to her seat.

"Ouch, you wound." Harry responded dryly, deciding for the time being that stalling was the best course of action. He figured that now was a good a time as any to reveal his trump card. "I merely ask because I had assumed that you being French might mean you would prefer to, oh I don't know, _speak in French?" _He finished in the most triumphant, perfectly accented French he could muster without seeming arrogant, which was a feat in itself.

Fleur, contrary to Harry's belief, was only mildly impressed that he spoke French, although he did speak well. She was at the World Cup, he could easily be one of the diplomat's sons or some such, and have been required to learn the language by his father. "_If that is what you prefer, then I will oblige. Are you one of the diplomat's sons then?" _She questioned, trying to stifle her chuckle at his flustered look upon seeing that she was distinctly _not _impressed by his trump card.

"_No, I am here with a group of family friends,"_ here he pointed at the Weasleys in the front row, easily spotted both to their placement and the shocking red hair that adorned 5 of the heads in the row, along with the bushy brown of the last._ "the man on the far left won tickets from the office in which he work in the English ministry; and yourself? Are you a daughter of one of the ambassadors?" _

"_Well, not technically an ambassador, but my father is Sebastian Delacour, he is to take over as the French Minister for Magic next month, and your Minister Fudge wanted to make sure he started on good terms with him." _Fleur began, more interested in the conversation than she would ever admit, the young man in front of her was withstanding the full measure of her allure and wasn't even remotely affected. That alone was enough to intrigue her, but she also felt that he could be trusted, as if she'd met him before, but she knew she hadn't. She would have recognized his eyes.

"_Is he? Well then, I suppose I should avoid getting on your bad side hmmm?" _Harry responded easily, now that he had her talking it was simply a matter of making himself remembered, he had planted the seed, now it just had to be watered, and the proverbial rainclouds were building with every passing word.

Fleur chuckled at his comment, it wasn't really funny but she laughed because there was nothing else to do, he was a good conversationalist for one so young. But she did need to be returning to her parents, she would get his name, and maybe an address, some light correspondence with the charming young man who could resist her allure couldn't possibly be a bad thing.

"_Well, it was good talking to you, but I really must be returning to my family, my father has been glaring at the back of your head for the last several minutes, and he seems ready to come kill you."_ Fleur chuckled as she finished telling him about her father and seeing his look of dawning horror, before he turned around slowly and waved at her glowering father.

"_So he does…it was good talking to you Ms. Delacour, and I appreciate the escort to the punch bowl. Have a good evening, try not to get into to much trouble wouldn't you?"_ Harry responded, deciding that he would at least see if he could caution her against what he knew was to come.

"_I will do my best. But I still have not received your name…" _

"_So you haven't, well my dear, my name is Harry, and I'll make a deal with you. The first name you earned through wondrous conversation, so you must do the same for the last. Is there any chance I could get an address to which I could send my adoring fan mail to one Ms. Fleur Delacour?" _ Harry responded; immensely proud of himself for what he felt, was an incredibly clever way to keep her interested.

"_Fan mail hmmm? I don't know, Harry sounds like it could be an alias…but alas, I'm a sucker for a good mystery, but how about I write to you instead? Giving out the address of our future minister to people I've just met isn't exactly something I'm comfortable with." _

"'_A sucker for a good mystery' eh? Well then you'll be happy to hear that I'm a good mystery for a sucker." _He said with a wink,_" You can address any letters you may have to the Burrow, address them to Harry and I'm sure I'll get them eventually."_ He finished, happy that he was able to play off his sense of utmost accomplishment so well.

"Very well then, 'Arry. It was a pleasure speaking with you, until next time, _au revoir_." Fleur said with a wave as she made her way back to her seat, glancing over her should to see "Harry" watching her walk away, she smiled at him one last time before turning to her parents, it had been a truly enjoyable conversation. As she settle back in her seat, she finally looked out towards the field and realized that the game was already well into play; she had been talking to Harry for longer than she had thought.

"_Who was that?"_ Her father asked gruffly, sounding entirely unpleased that _anyone _had _dared_ approach one if his little girls without proper permission. But Fleur had seemed to be enjoying herself and he didn't want to make her angry, so he decided that the boy could live…for now.

"_He only told me his fist name: Harry. He said that if we remain in correspondence then he will tell me the rest of it. I know you know who he is papa, but please don't tell me. I want to figure it out on my own."_ Fleur pleaded. The second she had mentioned the name Harry, her father's eyes had lit up in recognition. But he knew that she enjoyed doing things in her own way, and so he wouldn't spoil her fun, Harry Potter was very lucky that he was immune to the allure, it was the one thing that Fleur's father found acceptable enough to start him on a preliminary basis with his daughter.

"_If you wish, I want to know if he tries anything though. He will be reminded just whose daughter he is speaking with if he does."_ Sebastian told her, his tone of voice telling her that should "Harry" infringe upon his daughters honor in any way, he would come out of it a broken man…literally.

-Break—

Harry made his way back to his own seat after getting his fruit punch, realizing as he sat down that he had been gone for significantly longer than he had planned. He realized about the same time the Hermione was staring at him, along with Ron and the twins, all four of them looking rather astounded by something or other.

"What? You guys are freaking me out…" Harry said, thoroughly amused by their faces as they gave him a deadpan stare that meant they knew that he knew _exactly_ what had them so amazed.

"Harry, mate…who _is _she?" Ron asked, his disbelief obvious in his voice, along with the underlying tones indicating his clear unhappiness in the fact that Harry had been talking to one of the most beautiful girls that he had ever seen.

"Who? Hermione? I figured you would at least have a general idea by now Ron, it's been four years and three attempts on our lives, not usually stuff you forget…" Harry responded, certain that he was irritating his friend more than was necessary, but the twins snickering did little to make him want to come clean, he was getting closer and closer to joining in with their laughter at Ron.

"No you dolt, that beautiful blonde you were with!" Ron huffed back at him, clearly upset by his friend's avoidance of the question.

"Oh, calm down Ron, her name is Fleur Delacour. She happened to be at the punch bowl at the same time as me, and we had a conversation. That's all, no need to have an aneurism." Harry told his friend between chuckles. The twins were currently imitating Ron's body language mockingly behind their brother's back, and it was proving to be the perfect thing to bring out Harry's laughter.

"But…she's _gorgeus_! How did you get her to talk to you?" Ron asked, not understanding that his friend was actually able to have a conversation with a pretty girl.

"Well, I said 'Hi,' made a fool of myself, and then made her laugh." Harry explained slowly, as if talking to a child.

"Oh, sod off Harry." Ron grumbled, accepting that his friend wasn't going to give any helpful answers. Of course, in turning around he caught the twins in the act of mimicking his very movement and just grumbled angrily pushing himself father into the back of his seat so as to avoid the laughter from the twins.

"Harry," Hermione whicpered harshly, indicating that he should get closer to her.

"Hermione!" He responded in the same tone.

"Harry, be serious for a second won't you please? How did you learn to speak perfect French?!" She whispered, apparently having caught parts of his conversation with Fleur.

"_Well, shit." _Harry thought, trying to think of a way to get out of the bad situation, and when all else fails, blame the Dursleys. "Well you remember how my relatives never let me do anything? I used to steal my cousin's foreign language books and study them when I couldn't sleep. Dudley had to take four years of French at school, along with remedial lessons because he was awful at it, so I always took his books."

"Oh, I'm sorry I asked Harry, I didn't mean to remind you of your relatives." Hermione responded, torn between her embarrassment for bringing them up, and her pride in Harry for learning a foreign language like French on his own.

"Don't worry about it; it was one of the good things that came out of the whole situation." Harry responded with a smile before turning back to the game going on in front of them. It was one of the most exciting things to watch and he was missing it talking to everyone, couldn't he just watch in peace now?

-Break—

It was after the match, everyone had already made it back to the tent and were currently sitting around the living area, Ron having forgotten his earlier surliness, was dancing about the room proclaiming the greatness of Viktor Krum. The twins, however, were quick to remind him that despite Krum's brilliant flying, Ireland had been the ones to secure the cup, tempering Ron's excitement, if only by a fraction.

Harry was resting on the couch, already knowing what was about to begin, and therefore was not nearly as excited as he had been earlier. He was stressed about Fleur's safety, he was stressed about the Weasley's safety, and he was stressed about Hermione's safety. He had decided that he would break off from the rest of the group once they began fleeing from the attack and he would put down the Death Eaters. He had killed enough in his first lifetime that the thought of having to off a few more terrorists didn't bother him much, he had made his peace with the fact that they needed to die.

He knew as soon as Mr. Weasley burst into the tent in a huff that it had begun. The man was shouting orders at Ron and the twins to pack up everyone's bags and run. They were told that Ginny was their top priority and to keep her safe at all costs. They needn't worry about any harm coming to them, or Ginny, or Ron, or Mr. Weasley, or Hermione, as the entire time Harry had been lying on the couch he had been muttering extremely quietly, erecting wards around each of them that would draw directly on his own power to redirect enemy attacks in another direction. It would have been horribly exhausting if he was any other person, but he hadn't been the most powerful wizard of his time for nothing. He could maintain their wards and still fight a full scale battle without breaking a sweat.

He was following the group out of the tent now, preparing to cast the silent, wandless Disillusionment Charm on himself when he heard a noise that he had only ever heard once before and had been burned into his mind ever since. It was a scream, a scream so bloodcurdling and bone chilling that he felt his blood run cold. He knew the scream because the last time he had heard it had been at the Battle of Hogwarts when he had "died" in front of the entire student body. It was a scream that was ingrained into his memory because of the rage it caused him to fly into at that time, and the fury he felt hearing it now. It was a scream of absolute terror, one of such horror as to be mistaken for that of a banshee. But it wasn't, it was quite the opposite. It was the scream of a beautiful half-veela he was madly in love with. It was the scream of Fleur Isabelle Delcour.

His hands engulfed in flame seemed to belong to a spectre due to their disembodied state. They burned white hot and yet he felt no heat, he was in the spot for only a split second longer before making several short range apparition jumps in rapid succession towards the scream. He had planned to kill the Death Eaters, but if they had done anything to Fleur, they would be much more than dead when he was through. He would obliterate them. Annihilate them, destroy them; however you wanted to say it. By the end of this night, their whole goddamned raiding party was going to be nothing but unidentifiable piles of ash.

He had reached the group of Death Eaters now, they were crowded around a tent, and they were setting fire to those around it. They had formed a crude circle and in the middle was Fleur; she was writhing on the ground in agony, no doubt due to a curse from one of the group. Her face a bloodied mess, she had taken a blow to the head that was leaking blood. She had a small cut on her cheek and her eyes were screwed shut in pain. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, one that had ended scant seconds ago when one of the Death Eaters had silenced her.

With a yell of fury and a wave of his hand, Harry simultaneously shielded Fleur, cancelled the curse afflicting her, and launched a wave of white hot hellfire towards the Death Eaters, vaporizing their front ranks and opening up a hole for him to put himself between them and Fleur.

The Death Eaters seemed stunned; they didn't know what was happening. There wasn't supposed to be any resistance, one second they were torturing the girl, the next four of their group had disappeared in the blinding firestorm. The only thing they could now see was the swirling mass of magic in the middle of their now semi-circle. Nobody wanted to be the first to attack, for fear of being the first to die. However that wasn't a fear that they held for long as the mass sent an extremely powerful cutting curse into their group, bisecting three more Death Eaters before they even had a chance to return fire. But now they were shocked out of their stupor and were ready to attack, and attack they did. Killing Curses and Torture Curses made way for Cutters and Bone Breakers, none of it mattered. The mass erected a dome of stone around both itself and the girl cancelling out the Killing Curses, before dropping the dome and seeming to swirl faster as it redirected all of their curses back into their midst, decimating the few they had left. There were the distinct cracks of apparition as the few Death Eaters still capable tried to leave, only to suddenly reappear in the exact place they had apparated from. There was an apparition field around their battle area, which was _not fucking good_.

Harry now had them all trapped and was done with the fight, while his magical reserves themselves had barely been drained at all, his body was starting to strain from the movement. He was moving incredibly fast, augmented magically by pumping the raw power into his muscles, as he slit the throats of the remaining Death Eaters with cutting curses centralized on his palms to allow the assassination of his targets. He wanted the battle done with so that he could check on Fleur's condition. He wasn't great with healing charms, but he could fix what was wrong with her. He had already had preliminary scans running on her which confirmed that she hadn't been hit with a _Crucio_, just assorted Pain Hexes and Burning Curses, nasty stuff to be sure, but he could fix it.

The last Death Eater fell as the others had before him: not realizing what it was killing him until it no longer mattered. Harry, having finished the last of the Death Eaters, dropped his disillusionment and made his way back to Fleur, where she was now unconscious in the shield he had put around her. He made his way into the shield and kneeled next to her, slowly moving his hands over her body, correcting the worst injuries first before moving on to the more minor things, thanking whatever gods may be as he did that they hadn't used a _Crucio_, as there was no way to "fix" that except time and patience. She wouldn't regain full consciousness for a few hours but she had just enough energy to open her eyes and see "Harry's" strikingly green ones looking down at her as he waved his arms over her. She did not miss the tears streaming down his face. Whether they were from sadness or rage, she did not know, possibly both. But she was slowly losing consciousness again and embraced the escape it offered from reality. Knowing that with Harry there, she at least had some protection.

Harry picked her up gingerly and began to carry her in the direction that was hopefully towards her parents and sister. He didn't want them to think she had been kidnapped after all, and they weren't liable to question him…yet. He mostly just wanted to assure them that she was alive and mostly unharmed after his healing of her injuries, limited though it may have been.

He walked off in a relatively straight line, doing his best to support her weight evenly and not fall over. He slipped a few times, but managed to mostly maintain his balance, although his still awkwardly short limbs made it difficult. His body was also _aching_; he had tried to push it too far too fast. He had nearly felt the muscles separating from his bones when he had been fighting the Death Eaters. He needed to focus on dealing with that soon; never knowing when the next attack may come left him in a position of needing to be constantly aware.

He kept walking until he heard shrill voices in the woods, voices that were speaking in rapid French. He knew that these were the girls from Beauxbatons that he had encountered last time. Hopefully they would know where the Delacours were. If they didn't he could always leave Fleur with them as a last resort, though he was reluctant to leave her with anyone but her family with the state she was currently in.

"_Excuse me," _he intoned in clear French, _"excuse me, but did you happen to see a family come through here or near here recently? I am looking for this girls parents."_

"_Wha-?...Who?...Is that Fleur? What happened to her?"_ One of the girls asked, obviously worried that something had happened to the girl she must have recognized from school.

"_My name is Harry, but please, have you seen the Delacours?"_ Harry responded, now asking more specifically since this girl apparently knew, or at least knew of, Fleur.

"_Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter. We only just arri-…Fleur?! Fleur?! What did you do to my little girl?!"_ Harry turned around rapidly as he heard Mr. Delacour approach form behind him, although when the man saw the condition of his daughter he flew into a bit of a rage and pulled his wand on Harry, his eyes swearing bloody retribution.

"_Sir, I found her near a burned out tent, she was unconscious. It appears that she must have been knocked down by the crowd in the panic after the attack."_ Harry replied while quickly handing over Fleur to Mr. Delacour at the man's frantic prompting. Mr. Delacour neglected responding to Harry, instead walking off at a rapid clip with his daughter in hand back into the forest. Hushed voices were heard in hurried conversation before two distinct _cracks!_ Of apparition were heard from what Harry could only assume was the Delacours taking their daughters to a safer location.

Harry turned back to the girls, and after a short conversation, it was decided that they would all go to one of the girls house for the night. It seemed a reasonable enough solution and it meant that Harry could get back to his friends sooner. No doubt they would be worried about where he had ghosted off to amidst screams and fire. But first, he was going to find a nice tree to lean against for a short break until his bones stopped creaking and his muscles ceased their burning.

**A/N: Hey everyone! I am terribly sorry about the ridiculous wait on this chapter, but I was dealing with some personal stuff and lost my muse for a few weeks. So I decided to give you guys a double-length chapter to sorta beg my way out of the doghouse. Thanks for all of your reviews, favorites, and follows! Hope you enjoyed. 'Till next time.**

**A/N 2: Hey everyone! I wanted to first off apologize for the false update, I just needed to rewrite the ending for this chapter because I realized about a week after posting it that I had backed myself into a corner. I hope this new ending is satisfactory and I will be posting chapter six either tomorrow or Monday. Also, I apparently made the mistake of calling Sirius Harry's uncle before, which is a capital sin, obviously. I also wanted to thank all of you guys for reading and reviewing, you're great! But anyway, until next time! **

**Sincerely,**

**Ftdc123**


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